


Alright. Stay over.

by Captaindick



Series: Going Back To Your Room [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Collars, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pet Play, Puppy Play, Top Derek Hale, Under-negotiated Kink, just a minor one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captaindick/pseuds/Captaindick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't plan it out, doesn't plan it at all. It just happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alright. Stay over.

**Author's Note:**

> this is way less kinky and sexy than it could've been if I wasn't the one writing it, so here's your warning.  
> Also, it's from Stiles' pov, because a lot of fics that I read that had puppy play in them were from the perspective of the person, pretending to be a dog. So I decided to mix it up a bit.
> 
> (I'm still all kinds of busy but I'm slowly writing more for all the fics posted here. This one was shorter so it was easier to finish it first)

It was supposed to be a joke. And now that Stiles thinks about it, a really lame one. But he did it. And now Derek was staring at him with an unreadable expression which, Stiles was pretty sure, meant his imminent death.

And Stiles was fucking frozen in place, collar grasped tightly in a white knuckled grip, perched on the bed on his knees with the damn thing. Quality leather, a nametag that read “Sourwolf”. It’s really hard remembering right now why he decided buying such a thing was a good idea. And he spent time on it, choosing the colour palette, the metal, ordering a special tag, with a triskelle on the back. The man doing the work smirked at Stiles knowingly and Stiles felt hot all over with embarrassment, because that wasn’t it. It wasn’t a kink thing. It was a weird way to mark the anniversary of Derek showing up in his bed in wolf form. Nothing more. It was supposed to be funny, but, yeah, maybe he hoped that Derek would understand the meaning behind it, the sentimental value or some mushy shit Stiles made up in his head. But now Derek’s angry and Stiles just wants to run away and hide for the rest of his life.

He realizes that he’s babbling, muttering apologies under his nose when Derek barks at him to stop. Wow, pun so not intended. No puns intended any more whatsoever for the rest of his life-

Derek reaches out to take the collar from his hands and Stiles begins to apologize again only to be interrupted once more by Derek. Derek turns the collar over in his hands, feeling the leather between his fingers, touching the nametag… well, this was good while it lasted.

“Put it on me.”

Stiles nods, resigned. He knew this was coming. “Yeah, ok, I- wait, what?” did he hear right? Because Derek didn’t say they were breaking up. He said-

“Put it on me.” Yeah. That.

Derek lifts his chin up, baring his neck and presents the collar to Stiles, arms outstretched, the item held almost gently in his hands. And Stiles, Stiles is not sure what’s going on, but he’s going to listen. If Derek’s talking to him he’s not going to ruin it even more than he already did and he’s going to listen to him.

Stiles’ palms are sweaty and he has to wipe them on his jeans before reaching out with shaky hands and taking the collar from Derek. He still can’t bring himself to look Derek in the face so he sticks with staring at the expanse of his neck, open and vulnerable and all for Stiles. He wants to kiss it, kiss Derek, tell him he’s sorry for being so stupid, but instead he bites his tongue and shuffles closer on the bed, hands clammy against Derek’s hot skin as he fastens the collar, torturously slow, careful not to make it too tight, and turns it around, so that the nametag covers the hollow of Derek’s throat. And he can’t hold it back any more.

“Sorry, shit, Derek, I am so sorry. I never wanted to offend you or- this was stupid, I didn’t think. I just wanted-” and then he promptly shuts up, because Derek shifts on the bed and drags down his boxer briefs in one fluid movement. This is not where Stiles saw it going. In hindsight, maybe he should’ve. With Derek sleeping in only his underwear on his bed when he came back, with basically ordering a bdsm-kind of item. But he didn’t. And now he’s staring, mouth wide open, at a naked, save for the collar, Derek, with rumpled bed hair and his eyes boring into Stiles as they bleed red and his fangs and claws coming out. Stiles has a moment to wonder if maybe it’s not a sexy thing, that maybe Derek really is going to transform into a huge black wolf and rip his throat out. But then Derek’s lunging forward and licking into his mouth and yeah, ok, definitely a sexy thing.

Stiles reaches out and pulls Derek closer, hands bracketing his stubbled jaw, trying to lick into his mouth but Derek won’t let him deepen the kiss, just lapping against his tongue, his lips, his open mouth, teeth, licking over Stiles talking and- oh god. Oh god this isn’t happening.

“Derek, Derek, are you- what are you-” only Stiles gets interrupted when Derek moves away, huffing and then promptly pushes him down with a loosely balled fist against his chest. And then he’s back on him, rubbing his face against Stiles’ neck and nipping his ear lightly.

“Oh god, you can’t be serious,” whimpers Stiles and covers his face with an arm, allowing himself to fully fall back onto the sheets and letting Derek carry on with whatever he decided to do because this is a million times better than Derek being mad at him and Stiles is already at half-mast just from all the sniffling and licking. And Derek’s just at his neck.

Derek crawls down his body in one swift move and then he’s nosing at the hem of Stiles’ shirt, trying to lift it, only revealing a tiny strip of skin on his first try and coming back to nose at it again, forcing the shirt up, actually whimpering a little when it doesn’t go higher than Stiles’ navel, because he’s laying on it and it just won’t move further without assistance. Stiles’ heart is beating in his head as he lifts up to take off his shirt, hands trembling from excitement.

Stiles bites down on a moan when Derek keeps nosing at his happy trail, his tongue going back to action, mapping out Stiles’ abdomen and giving tiny nips that make Stiles squirm and whimper. And then Derek’s balled up hand is scratching at the material of Stiles’ jeans like he can’t just use his fingers and open them. Derek’s nose goes lower, to Stiles’ groin and he fucking whines like he really _really_ needs Stiles to unfasten his pants and get down to it and Stiles can’t help himself: he reaches to stroke a hand through Derek’s hair, rewarded with Derek licking at his palm gratefully.

Stiles is having a crazy rush of empowerment, that must be the reason he thinks commanding Derek is a good idea.

“Sit.” Derek looks up at him from where he returned to sniffing at the bulge of Stiles’ jeans and Stiles wants to apologize and take his words back but then Derek’s withdrawing and sitting back on his haunches, hands folded on his lap and Stiles groans at the sight alone.

“Is this all you can do? Can I make you perform tricks? Because, man, this would be-” Stiles is in the middle of a nervous wordvomit and his pants and underwear are almost off when Derek growls and pushes him back to the bed, dragging the jeans all the way down with his clawed hand. “Alright. No tricks then.” Squeaks Stiles. Stiles squirms under Derek, who won’t budge, but Stiles is stuck in one sock and he needs to get it off because this isn’t a cheap porno and he feels kind of ridiculous with his sock still on. And then, when it’s finally off, no help from Derek, Stiles can finally devote his full attention to the werewolf hovering above him, sniffing and licking at his neck and what socks? Who even cares about socks? Not Stiles, nope.

Derek is moving lower, licking his way down, sloppy and ungraceful, all panting hot breath and broad strokes of a wet tongue and Stiles wants to cry at how perfect he is. After a while, though, Stiles mostly wants to cry because Derek’s been nosing for way too long at Stiles pubic hair, making the boy keen and make abandoned thrusts with his hips, until, finally, Derek gets lower, settling between his legs, pressing his make-believe paws down to spread Stiles wider and to make sure he’s restrained and can’t move properly. And then his tongue is on Stiles. 

It’s like the best kind of torture because Derek’s tongue is so skilled and he knows all the sensitive spots, all the places that will make Stiles go rigid under him, but he just. Keeps. Licking. He won’t swallow Stiles down like he usually does, won’t circle his head before sucking it down, he’s just licking, lapping, messy and kind of unpredictable, and it’s frustrating. Would be frustrating. If it wasn’t so hot. Fuck, Stiles never thought about something like this, never let himself, never imagined it would feel so good.

He moans and writhes under Derek’s ministrations, absently petting his head and shoulders. And then Derek gets lower, nose digging into his balls, makeshift paws lifting off to let Stiles pull his legs to his chest by the knees, exposing himself to Derek’s tongue.

And. He. Just. Keeps. On. Licking.

Derek licks at his balls, his hole, his ass and thighs, the base of his cock, comes back to his hole and pays more attention to it but that’s all he does: he licks at it, tongue never breaching the rim.

“Derek, come- come on-” whines Stiles, but gets a tiny growl and a nip to an ass cheek for his effort. Fuck. Well, Derek is pretending to be a dog right now. So he, logically, can not do more. So Stiles has to be the one to do the prepping.

“Stay,” he tries to command as he gets away from Derek’s amazing tongue and shimmies up the bed to get the lube. It’s flavoured and tastes too sweet but when Stiles is two fingers in and allows Derek to get back to it, Derek doesn’t seem to mind in the least, going back to lapping at Stiles’ asshole eagerly, licking his fingers and ass, covered in lube.

He’s on finger four, kind of mad that Derek is obviously not planning on fucking him, content to just lick at him and rim him to completion, when Derek shifts to stand on his hands and knees and paws at him in an attempt to turn him over. When Stiles doesn’t get what he wants immediately he gets more persistent, nosing him too and whining again, nipping at his side to get his point across.

“Ok, ok. You’ve got no patience.” Stiles grumbles but his heart is beating so fast inside his ribcage he thinks he might burst. Fuck, it’s really happening.

He’s not even all the way rolled over when Derek starts thrusting his hips, trying to mount him. Stiles falls over and Derek nips at him, unhappy. The younger man pets the one, pretending to be a dog, and tells him to wait, Derek ignoring him completely as he thrusts against his leg, Stiles’s dick twitching at the feeling of Derek’s cock smearing precome on his thigh.

Once Stiles is on all fours, in position, Derek above him – Derek can’t get in. He’s trying, yeah, thrusting in earnest, whining and biting at Stiles’ neck, his body covering Stiles, leaving no space between their heated skin. But he can’t get in, his dick slipping against Stiles’ back, catching on his rim and then slipping down to rub against his balls instead. So Stiles has to lower down to his shoulders, presenting his ass to Derek in an even more obscene way, and reach a hand back, beneath him, Derek being no help at all, as he grabs him by the dick and directs his miscoordianted thrusts to his asshole.

He doesn’t breach him on the first try, but when he does it’s the inhuman werewolf strength, Stiles is sure, that almost plummets him into the headboard, Derek jackhammering his hips with abandonment, with absolute disregard to Stiles’ cries and he’s slipping out again, fuck.

Derek won’t cooperate, even when Stiles asks him to, pleads with him to, just biting at Stiles’ fingers that try to pet him and get him to calm down. It takes two more tries for them to get into a rhythm they both can keep up with.

Derek’s cock is thick and hard and Stiles thinks he probably should be used to the feeling of it, but then again, he’s having sex with Derek freakin’ Hale. On a regular basis. They’re in a _relationship_. Nobody can have that and stop being fascinated; Stiles cries out on every thrust, bed creacking like in a fucking movie or something, making him kind of regret not having a camera there for this, and woah there, enough kinks for today, he’ll think about this one later, when Derek isn’t plummeting his dick into him at lightning speed, growling and pretending to be an animal.

Derek pulls him closer with his arms, not enough, no grip of fingers that would leave bruises, no coordination, and Stiles’ weak attempts to move his hips to meet Derek’s thrusts are useless, most of his efforts spent on trying to keep in position and not spread out on the bed under the force of Derek pounding into him, making Derek’s dick slip out.

Derek isn’t precise, isn’t spot on, not the perfectionist he loves to be in bed, his dick just grazing Stiles’ prostate instead of hitting it dead on, like a torture. And he can’t, this is a fucking tease, so Stiles reaches a hand to stroke himself, two twists of his fist around his leaking member enough to make him cry out in half-shock, half-pleasure, and paint the bedsheets with come, his orgasm hitting him out of nowhere.

He thinks he might’ve blacked out, because when he opens his eyes, Derek’s still fucking up into him, his dick hitting Stiles’ prostate on every thrust now, and Derek’s hands are hands again, that grip that he was aching for, tight on his hips. And Derek went with the right choice there because Stiles’ legs are fucking jelly and he’s content to just let Derek use his limp body any way he wants. Only when Derek’s hips begin to stutter, he pulls out, not letting go of Stiles, and there’s a warm splash on the back of his thighs, his ass, his lower back. Stiles moans with Derek and the werewolf finally lets him down, Stiles immediately cringing at the wet spot he’s in, but too lazy to move.

And anyway, Derek’s hands are back on him, rubbing the come into his skin, pushing it inside him, fingers stroking Stiles’ rim from the inside, and Stiles whimpers, spent, overstimulated, and so amazingly content.

Distantly Stiles registers a clack of metal and sees Derek’s arm out of the corner of his eye, placing the collar on his night stand.

“Next time I’m going to knot you.” Derek’s voice is wrecked and Stiles shivers from the fact that Derek allowed himself to speak only after taking the collar off, or because of his voice, or both, probably both. Oh and, of course-

“Wait! You can knot?!”

**Author's Note:**

> this concludes the original plan I had for this series.  
> but now that it's done, I'm thinking of making it into a kink fest and just write shameless porn whenever I feel like it, with some character development along the way. But basically, this is it. The core three stories.
> 
> If I missed any tags - please tell me


End file.
